The Commons 2 // 40 - 41

nobody knows who I am
my combustion narrative
your meta-knives, clicking
- an alphabet of taxes -
- speaking in runes -
- local residents -
- burnt gust globes -
meanwhile, back in poetry
I have eaten the rooms
the housing cluster
voices clicking inside you
the cracks that you ordered
cobalt / iridium / plutonium
iridium / radium / americium


hello, you are the decibel
what’s speaking, right,
to our ring of ‘curses’
sorry, I meant ‘persons’
the jerking provincial street
roaring in our darkness
we dogs / listen
sign em, they are distressing
this speaking, for example
the word ‘waterboard’
some kind of sincerity?
a tone control, closing?
“not a soul would look up
not a soul would look down”